


January 24th, 2014

by AryYuna



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s09e10 Road Trip, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 18:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3219230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AryYuna/pseuds/AryYuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been almost a week since the end of episode 9x10 and Sam notices for the first time what day it is. Castiel is with him. Dean is… alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	January 24th, 2014

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one year ago, right after Road Trip, but I wasn't on ao3 yet, at the time. So here it is, exactly one year later.
> 
> It's set about a week after the end of 9x10; I chose to use the airing dates, since the show doesn’t often give us precise dates. It’s my first story in this fandom and my first “birthday” story ever (and I swear I didn’t think so many people would have my same idea… and here I thought I was being original XD). You could see it as set between 9x10 and 9x11, but I actually wrote it before watching 9x11, so I’m not sure it fits well.  
> Enjoy! :D
> 
> I apologize for my English; it’s not my first language and I don’t have a beta-reader. If you find any mistakes, please let me know and I’ll see to fix them.  
> You can find this story in Italian here: http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=2419540&i=1
> 
> Disclaimer: unfortunately, SPN doesn’t belong to me. If it did… well, I would meet Jensen Ackles e Jared Padalecki, which would be veeeery good, and there would be someone reminding the authors about canon…

A week had passed since they went separate ways. It wasn’t the first time it happened, but it was the first time Sam was alone for Dean’s choice and not his own - he was the one who usually did the leaving.

_“I’m poison.”_

Dean’s words kept playing again and again in his head. Did he really believe that? Did he really believe he was bad for Sam and whomever was around him? Sam shook his head: no matter what Dean believed, that wasn’t the reason Sam was mad with him, he didn’t believe his brother was poison. He didn’t blame Dean for Kevin’s death. He was mad, of course he was. He was mad because once again Dean had chosen for him, because once again he’d taken upon himself the burden of taking care of his little brother, like Sam was a little kid, unable to defend himself, to choose. To choose to die.

And now Dean would bear the guilt of Kevin’s death on his shoulders with thousands of other guilts that weren’t his, but that he was always all too ready to take. That weight would grow more and more until it would crush him, and Sam couldn’t stand to see his brother destroying himself like that. Being apart for a while would to them both good, he’d told himself. He only wished Dean would see it the same way, would understand that Sam didn’t hate him, didn’t blame him. Didn’t see him as _poison_.

He was about to go grocery shopping. It was wrong, acting like nothing happened, like Dean and Kevin were just sleeping in and he’d got up early to enjoy the morning and go jogging. It was wrong. But he had no lead about Gadreel, no idea how to act and he hadn’t recovered from the Trials yet. Castiel was with him to heal him, like he’d promised Dean. Sam knew that the angel had stayed with him for Dean. His brother and Castiel shared a bond he’d never been a part of and, as much as the angel had often helped them both, Sam knew he was just ‘the boy with the demon blood’ to Cas.

“Good morning,” the angel said joining him at the foot of the stairs.

“Hey,” he answered a little awkwardly. Sam and Cas had never been alone together under the same roof, and they couldn’t consider themselves ‘friends’. But they were allies and they both cared about Dean, even if in different ways.

“Uh… you seen my cell phone? I’m going to the grocery store and…” Sam nodded toward the stairs.

Castiel nodded and pointed toward the table. The boy half-smiled to thank him, wondering how to break the awkwardness; he took the phone and turned it on. When he was the date on the screen, though, his position with the angel didn’t look all that important anymore.

‘January 24th, 2014’.

“Sam? Are you alright?” Castiel asked walking toward him.

“Uh… yeah. I’m alright,” he answered distractedly.

“You don’t seem so,” the angel insisted. His voice was calm, but Sam couldn’t understand what he was thinking.

“It’s the 24th of January.”

Castiel frowned.

“Yes.”

“It’s Dean’s birthday,” Sam almost whispered.

“I know.”

The young Winchester raised his head. He’d wondered how long Castiel had actually followed their lives before becoming part of them… had he seen them being born? Had he followed their parents? Their grandparents? Heaven - as he’d understood - had taken an active part in making a hunter’s daughter meet a Man of Letter’s son, but Sam still couldn’t really wrap his head around it. He remembered that, the first time he’d met Castiel, he’d been excited to meet an angel. Knowing the angel, though, had irreparably changed his thoughts and Faith.

He took a breath and closed the phone to put it into his pocket. “Ok, I’m going to the grocery store. If you need anything you can find me on my phone, you should have my number…”

“Sam,” Castiel interrupted him and Sam wished he’d never stopped and taken that stupid phone - why the hell would he need a phone to go _grocery shopping_?

He sighed.

“You could call him.”

“He wouldn’t answer.”

“But he would know you remember.”

“Dean knows I remember his birthday.”

Well, the Winchesters had never had many chances to really celebrate their birthdays, especially those last years. But albeit their childhood hadn’t been all that normal - nor that happy - John had always tried, as much as he could, to celebrate his sons’ birthdays with them, to celebrate the blessed days when he’s first held a new life in his arms, to honor the fruit of his and Mary’s love. And maybe there had been no fancy cakes nor party with balloons, but every 24th of January  and 2nd of May, John Winchester had taken them to a diner that had pancakes, and that was a birthday. As they grew up, hunting had taken a bigger part in their lives. But no birthday had ever been forgotten until he got to Stanford; and, according to what Dean had told him, Sam now knew that John had often driven to California - also on birthdays - to see how his second born was doing.

Now, maybe, time had passed, habits had been lost, but Sam always remembered his brother’s birthday and Dean remembered his. There was no need to call him and wish him happy birthday.

“Not his birthday,” Castiel placidly said and to Sam it felt like a slap in his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No matter why you let him go, you heard why _he_ chose to go,” the angel answered looking him in the eye. It was weird looking and angel in the eye: their emotions were never clear, yet you couldn’t avert your eyes. “Without you, he has no-one else. He has nothing else.”

“That’s not true” Sam replied without thinking. “He has you. And…” He stopped.

And? Who else did Dean have? Bobby was dead, Benny - the only _friend_ Dean had ever had, as much as Sam was unwilling to acknowledge that - was dead, killed but Dean’s own hand to save Sam, Lisa and Ben didn’t remember to having ever met him…

Who else did Dean have? What did he have? A car?

Castiel walked toward the kitchen to give Sam time to think and understand. The boy looked back to his phone and to the date, standing stark against the background. With a determinate sigh he speed-dialed Dean’s number.

“Hey. Uh… Happy birthday, bro,” he said as soon as he heard the _beep_ of the voicemail, but then he stopped. What now?

_I love you._

_I miss you._

_Come back._

_I didn’t want you to leave._

_You’re not poison._

_I know why you did it._

_Kevin’s death wasn’t your fault._

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know _how_ to say it so that Dean would listen, would believe him. He kept the phone to his ear for long minutes, opening his mouth as if to say something, and closing it again; until the metallic voice told him the message had reached the length limit and had been recorded.

He closed his phone and pocketed it before climbing the stairs and exiting the bunker.

 

\---

 

Being alone gave him too much time time to think and that was never good: thinking meant reflecting on his mistakes, regretting his choices. As if he hadn’t regretted them enoght already… as if it made any differences.

Dean prefeared acting. Sure, if he had a lead or - at least - a start point, it would be easier. But things were never ‘easy’ for a Winchester.

 _Enough with the pity-party_ , Dean scolded himself stopping the Impala on the edge of the road.

It was late and he hadn’t slept for more than twelve hours. He briefly considered to look for a motel for the night, but then dismissed the idea: it wasn’t the first time he’d slept in the car and it wouldn’t be the last. He turned off the engine and shifted on the seat to find a comfortable position to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. And not because he wasn’t tired: he was tired in every possible sense of the word. It just… it felt like something was missing.

He lay there, staring at the Impala’s dashboard waiting for sleep to come, but nothing changed. His toughts kept betraying him, replaying that moment on the docks when he’d last seen his brother.

He groped around for his cell phone to check what time it was, but what caught his eye was the date: the 25th of January.

The 25th of January? His birthday had passed - fourteen minutes ago, according to his phone - and he hadn’t even noticed. How old was he now? He had to rapidly - not so rapidly - do the math to know it.

Thirty-five.

He couldn’t remember turning thirty-four, nor thirty-three. Nor… What was the last birthday he remembered? Before Purgatory. Before Bobby’s death. The year he’d spent at Lisa’s? The one before that? How old had he been then? It had been the first time he’d wondered if he should count the forty years he’d spent in Hell.

Was he thirty-five or seventy-five? He felt a lot older than the calendar said.

He was about to turn off his phone when something else caught his eye: voicemail icon.

Frowning, he selected the icon and brought his phone to his ear.

 _“Hey. Uh… Happy birthday, bro,”_ Sam’s voice said, and in spite of everything Dean smiled, suddenly feeling lighter.

He listened to his brother’s breath for the five minutes of the message. And finally he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Dates. They are not canon-friendly, probably. But canon is not always canon-friendly itself, let’s face it: as far as I can remember (and ok, I know my memory sucks) first season was set in 2005, but Jess died on November the 2nd and it was the week-end… which didn’t happen in 2005 (November the 2nd was Wednesday). When Dean finds himself in the future, he says he’s from year 2009. And Charlie, in episode 9x04, says it’s year 2013, which leads me to think the show in-time is the same as the airing-time… but what about the year Sam spends hunting with Samuel while Dean is with Lisa? And what about the year Dean spends in Purgatory while Sam is with Amelia? I chose to believe that not all the seasons last a year, and screw chronologic coherence! XD  
> If you hate John Winchester, you probably won’t like what I did here. But I like him, a lot, and I read (pieces of) ‘John Winchester’s diary’: there, he never forgets his sons’ birthdays; not even once between Mary’s death and when he leaves Dean. So, yeah, I’m not sure the diary is actually canon, but I’m choosing to believe he let his sons know he remembered, because I know he loved them. Tough love is tough, but it’s love nonetheless.  
> Some of you will see Destiel. I’ve tried - really - but I can’t see it even where people tell me is obvious. So… if you see it here, just know it wasn’t conscious.  
> And… ok, I really talk too much. I hope you enjoyed my fanfiction :)


End file.
